Helen, who’d been unloading an armful of food in the corner, called over, “The high point was Marge. She came out from the kitchen to see what the commotion was and dropped a can of hot grease along the hallway. The poor slob’s backup had come tearing in. When the first guy yelled you’d gone out the rear, the second one went ass-over-teacup through the grease.” She roared with laughter.
Barbara reappeared with a fresh pot of coffee and poured out a cup for me. “It was great, Vic. God, I wish I’d brought my camera. It took ‘em about an hour to get out of here and all the time we’re boo-hoo-hooing like we’re the Three Stooges and can’t help ourselves… What are you having today, hon?”
“I’m waiting for someone before I order. You guys are great. I wish I’d stayed for the show. If I had a fortune, I’d split it among the lot of you.”
Most of the crowd this time of day were regulars, people from the neighborhood who’d been coming in for years on their way to work. They obviously had heard the story already—they kept cutting in with embellishments. At my comment a couple of them gave catcalls. “Easy to promise when you know you’ll die broke, Vic.”
“You oughtta give it up and turn your business over to these girls here—they’re the pros.”
The uproar suddenly trailed off. I looked over my shoulder and saw Dick come in. His pearl-gray summer worsted had the glow of wealth to it. The faint hauteur with which he viewed the chipped formica tables stirred a ripple of resentment. The men in work clothes and shabby jackets busied themselves with their food. When Dick saw me and sketched a wave, a low murmur went through the crowd.
“Who’s the talent?” Barbara whispered, refilling my coffee cup. “You land him and you’ve got that fortune all right. And don’t think I’ll forget your sweet talk.”
When Dick sat down she flicked her rag in front of him. “Okay if he joins you, Vic?”
I felt a bit embarrassed—I hadn’t asked Dick here in the hopes he’d be actively insulted. “He’s my guest, Barbara. Dick Yarborough, Barbara Flannery. Dick used to be married to me, but that was in another country.”
Barbara pursed her mouth in a wise “O,” which indicated understanding that we had confidential business. “Need a menu, Dick?”
Dick lifted frosty eyebrows. The Enterprise Club waiters murmured “Mr. Yarborough” at him deferentially.
“Do you have fresh fruit?”
Barbara rolled her eyes, but held back her favorite retort. “Honeydew, cantaloupe, and strawberries.”
“Strawberries. With yogurt. And granola. Skim milk with the granola.”
“Fruit, nuts and flakes, lean,” Barbara muttered. “Yours, Vic?”
Dick’s ostentatious good health made me feel as perverse as everything else about him did. “Corned beef hash and a poached egg. And fries.”
Barbara winked at me and took off.
“You ever hear of cholesterol, Vic?” Dick inspected his plastic water glass as if it were an unknown life form.
“That what you wanted to talk to me about so urgently? You know you’ve seen plastic before—it’s what we used to drink out of when we lived together down on Ellis.”
He had the grace to look a little ashamed. He drank some water, fiddled with his cufflinks, and looked around.
“It’s probably good for me to come to a place like this now and then.”
“Yeah. Kind of like going to the zoo. You can feel superior to the creatures in cages even while you’re sorry for them.”
Barbara swept out with his food before he could snap anything really clever back at me. He poked cautiously through the strawberries, picked out four or five that apparently didn’t meet his standards, and spooned some yogurt onto the rest. It was because of guys like him moving into the neighborhood that the diner had started carrying things like yogurt and granola. When I first arrived four years ago, you couldn’t get such arty food.
“So what’d you want to talk about, Dick? I know your time’s valuable.”
He swallowed a mouthful of berries. “You went out to see Jason Felitti on Friday.”
“Thank you for sharing that information with me.”
He frowned, but plowed ahead. “I’d like to know why you felt you had to bother him.”
Barbara brought my food. I cut into the egg and stirred the yolk up with the hash. The fries were golden-brown and crisp; I ate a few and then turned to the hash. I thought Dick was eyeing the fries a little enviously.
“I know you’re on the Diamond Head board, Dick. I have a feeling that you handled the legal work involved when Jason bought the company. After all, he’s your father-in-law’s brother, and even in Oak Brook I expect families stick together.” I was studying his face as I spoke, but he’d been through too many high-stakes poker games to show any surprise at my knowledge.
I sketched out the story of Mitch Kruger and of Milt Chamfers’s refusal to talk to me. “So I just hoped I could persuade Jason to get Chamfers to meet with me. Your daddy-in-law been complaining to you?”